


Ship of Theseus

by Elfgrunge



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: And instead it can be read as a piece on gender philosophy, As opposed to monsters in love, But I've had the idea forever and never acted on it, Considering this is about, Considering what this is about, Gen, I wrote this in one sitting it's a mess I'm sorry, Monsters In Friends, Season 4 timeline, Spurred by New Ep Sadness I guess, There's two tags for Helen and I guess that makes sense, You ever try and write a piece on monster philosophy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 09:23:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20079877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrunge/pseuds/Elfgrunge
Summary: ‘We are… We’re like that, you and I. I’m still Helen, in name, in presence, in being. The concept of Helen is there, and that is what drives forward whatever I may technically be now. You are still Jonathan Sims. Still Jon, to your friends, if you have any left.’





	Ship of Theseus

The sound of his knock is hard against the glossy yellow-lacquered wood of the door. It’s hinges bare no rust but creak in that head splitting way as long fingers twist it open. Helen glances down at him. 

‘Archivist.’ 

‘Distortion.’ 

‘Using formal titles now are we?’ And her voice is amused like a cat watching a mouse. 

Her’s. Not ‘It’s’. That part is important. Treat others as you wish to be treated, and all that. 

He opts to ignore the question. 

‘You said I was just as much the Jonathan Sims that first joined as you are Helen Richardson. So. Are you?’

‘Am I what?’

‘Are you Helen Richardson? Simple question, unlike your answer. You managed to make that as vague as possible. I dismissed it at the time, perhaps caught up in the fact that I was about to have my ribs torn out, but it kept nagging at me. What did you mean?’

Her laugh is like a china bell and it is like a chainsaw. She leans on the doorframe. ‘I suppose that was slightly misleading, yes. Can’t blame me, Twisting Deceit and all… And you do know how hard it is to go against your nature, don’t you Archivist?’ 

He narrows his eyes at her, but doesn’t try to argue. He knows he wouldn’t win that fight. 

She continues. ‘Archivist, have you heard of Theseus’s Ship?’ 

He pales at the reference, a lump lodging in his throat. ‘Yes.’ 

‘We are… We’re like that, you and I. I’m still Helen, in name, in presence, in being. The concept of Helen is there, and that is what drives forward whatever I may  _ technically  _ be now. You are still Jonathan Sims. Still Jon, to your friends, if you have any left.’ 

‘We are, of course, different. You became something, and something became me. Two sides of the same coin, we should both be dead and yet here we are.  _ Rebuilt _ by our God’s,  _ our Theseus _ . Richardson took a philosophy class, once, at University. That’s how I know this. The Distortion has no time for trying to puzzle out logic from things, but she thought it intriguing. Like  _ sudoku.  _ Richardson  _ loved  _ sudoku. I hold no grand affection for it myself. More fun when the numbers spring forth to dance around the doer’s head.’ 

Jon swallowed hard. ‘And how do I stop… Becoming something that  _ isn’t  _ Jonathan Sims. Something that isn’t  _ me. _ ’

She laughed again, and it was almost like static. Could have even been so. ‘Oh, you’ll always be  _ you. _ That’s one thing to hate about existence, isn’t it? You’ll always be yourself, just depends on who yourself is. You can be so many different people, while still trapped in this concept of ‘Am’ forever. Half of me didn’t exist, before I was Michael, just a force in the world, no identity. Another half of me didn’t exist until thirty seven years ago when something bloody and slimy and altogether unpleasant for all parties involved happened. I am both of these things, a union of concepts that carries the being of both. You, Jonathan-That-Is-The-Archivist, are something that is not quite either of those things.’ 

‘Jonathan Sims loves cats. The Archivist loves a statement. Jonathan needs tea to survive. The Archivist needs a story. Jon misses Martin Blackwood. The Archivist misses him too. I am a duo, Archivist-That-Is-Jon. I am both human and confusion and I walk that line with care. You have chosen to be not quite your title nor your name. You are other. I respect that. Does that sate your question?’ 

He nodded. If he tried to speak, he thought he might not get the words out. 

Helen stood back to her full height. ‘I’ll make you a deal. Come back to me, soon. If I happen upon someone in my corridors who may be able to prattle out a statement for you, well, tuck in. And besides, it would be so nice to have guests. Helen liked Jon, wanted to sit and chat with him more, and wouldn’t it be nice for us to play pretend?’ 

‘Goodbye Archivist-That-Is-Jon, or Jon-That-Is-Archivist, or friend. Goodbye, friend. Call again soon, won't you?’ 

The door squealed closed.


End file.
